


In the Garden of Eden, An Apple

by misura



Category: Earthian
Genre: Community: springkink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raphael peels an apple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Garden of Eden, An Apple

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted April 2007

It occured to Raphael, every now and then, with the inevitability of rising suns and waxing moons, that he might have died a long time ago, if Michael had been any less like a child, petulant and petty and never cruel on purpose (but always unthinkingly and uncomprehendingly, too much a captive of his own feelings to notice those of others, let alone be mindful of them).

Raphael did not allow himself the luxury of illusions - Michael might not see the harm in them, cherishing his precious dreams and ideals like so many baubles, but that only meant that Raphael was the one who should keep both feet on the ground, and be aware at all times of what might happen if he slipped. Michael played all of his roles to perfection, Raphael knew. It was Raphael who posed the danger, who was the weak link in this game of domino, neither falling nor standing with assurance, instead wavering, undecided, between giving in and holding out.

He envied Michael his ability to make everything simple on occasion, even when it terrified him at times, the way Michael could flut from moment to moment, without bothering to worry about things like consequences, leaving such things to Raphael, who was helpless to do anything but stumble after him, cursing Michael for being so heedless and careless one moment and worrying himself sick about Michael the next. (Raphael wondered sometimes if this was what parenthood was like - although, of course, no child of his would ever make his blood boil and his heart skip a beat the way Michael did, and Raphael frankly couldn't imagine feeling even the slightest stirring of desire for something that resembled Gabriel, or himself and Gabriel.)

Even Michael's falls and trouble were simple, reduced to easy problems with solutions that were, if not easy, then at least childishly simple. Michael was never kept awake by thoughts of anyone but himself, by impure thoughts of impure actions and feelings - he simply decided he wanted to peel an apple in the middle of the night, cut himself, and ordered someone to call Raphael.

"You should be more careful," Raphael chided, feeling foolish for saying something like that to someone who was his own age, and his superior. "Lord Michael." Michael's skin was soft where Raphael's lips brushed it, soft and warm. The expression on Michael's face was pleased, but not smug. Smugness, Raphael thought, he might have been able to deal with.

"Will you peel the apple for me?" Michael asked, holding out the knife and the apple. There was, Raphael noticed, not a speck of blood on them; they were as clean and unstained as if they'd never been used. "Please?"

Such a simple request, Raphael reflected. Such a simple problem - a desire to eat an apple. Pristine, too, and innocent. Unfairly so. If Raphael ever was lonely, he didn't call Michael. If he desired to touch Michael's hairs or taste his skin, he certainly didn't call Michael. Raphael never told Michael he was lonely, or hungry, or hurt - those were all Michael's words, Michael's excuses.

If Raphael failed to oblige him, Michael might grow more bold, more outspoken, less childish. Raphael told himself that was why he almost never refused; because it was safer that way.

An hour spent peeling an apple, feeding the pieces to Michael ('because my hand still hurts'), feeling the brush of lips ghost over his fingers and the palm of his hand was, Raphael told himself, a small price to pay for Michael's contentedness. If Raphael could offer Michael comfort that way, who was he to chafe, to demand more, to break the impasse and stop keeping things from falling?

 

It occured to Raphael, rarely, the concept illuminating his mind like a shooting star, an omen of glory or disaster, that if Michael had been any less like a child, too shy and afraid to take that last step and commit himself fully to something that was forbidden, they might have revolutionized the world, might have challenged the rules and laws and won. He never voiced this thought, keeping it hidden and choking it to death in that same dark corner of his mind where he kept an image of Lucifel, and rejoiced over her fall.


End file.
